


Dark Stars of Dawn

by scribblingTiresias



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker, Left Behind - Jerry B. Jenkins & Tim LaHaye, Slacktivist - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/F, F/M, M/M, Not even a little sorry, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, alternate universe - people are happy, alternate universe- things make sense, slacktivist - Freeform, this crossover is crack and i'm not sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-11 14:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7895794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblingTiresias/pseuds/scribblingTiresias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The crossover no one wanted. Alternately, "Operation: Save Chloe Steele."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the trick is to keep breathing

As she flung open the doors of the little church, Chloe felt a cold peace spreading through her, like poison in her veins. She'd felt more anger in that chapel than she'd ever thought she could bear; now, she couldn't feel much of anything.

She let out a deep breath, and stared up at the sky. It was clear blue, and wispy white clouds drifted over it.

After what had happened, it had no right to be that perfect. Millions of people had disappeared; millions of _children_ might as well be dead. Everyone was mourning, or knew someone who was...

And yet, the world moved on. It wasn't right, or good, or fair, but it did, all the same.

The world moved on, and she'd have to, too.

Chloe made herself walk to her car. She fumbled with the glove box, pulled out her CD case, and put on the first one she saw. A slow, uneasy melody trickled through the car.

_And lately I'm not the only one_  
I say never trust anyone  
Always the one who has to drag her down  
Maybe you'll get what you want this time around

_The trick is to keep breathing..._

She saw her father coming, and turned off the radio.

"Chloe-" He jogged towards the car. For someone who bragged about having been in ROTC, he huffed and puffed like the Big Bad Wolf.

"What?"

"Don't- don't leave without me."

Chloe gave him a long, cold stare. Did he really think she'd drive off just to spite him? But this was her father; of course he did. If the tables were turned, he would have, and he would have justified it in his head within seconds.

"Get in, then," she said.

She turned her music back on. He lumbered into the car, as gracefully as an arthritic elephant.

Chloe didn't feel much like talking. Her father didn't seem to, either. He stared out the window, tapping his fingers on the sill.

"You made a lot of noise back there," he finally said.

"I dropped a hymnbook." She kept her eyes on the road. "Wasn't my fault it echoed."

"You did it on purpose."

"Did you _hear_ what he was saying?"

"I did. And I was convicted in my heart. Why weren't you?"

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He had that stubbornly thoughtless look he got whenever he was being cruel.

"You can't be serious." Her grip on the wheel tightened.

“Don't you wonder _why_ I walked out?” Chloe asked.

“I figured it was because the questions and answers were hitting a little too close to home,” Rayford said.

" _Dad._ "

Chloe pulled off the road, into a gas station, and parked. She took a very deep breath, and closed her eyes.

"All this stuff about sin, and death, and the devil, and stuff? It's a smokescreen. It's a way to get away with hating other people. That's all it is."

"Chloe."

"You _know_ I'm gay, Dad! Why the _fuck-_ "

" _Chloe!_ "

She could feel herself shaking. Her shoulders and jaw felt like a coiled spring, ready to pop back up any second.

"I'm trying to _help_ you," her father said. "If you had good news, wouldn't you want to share it with everyone?"

"This isn't _good news,_ " she said. "That fat bastard of a preacher- he's up there telling you I'm a sinner just because I'm queer, and you're sitting there nodding along and _smiling_ , and you just want me to take it?"

“Everyone's a sinner, Chlo'. I know I’m a sinner. This world is full of them.”

“And you think that I'm one, too.”

“If you’re part of everybody, then, yes, I do. Don’t you?”

“No, Dad.” She clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

“You’re never selfish, greedy, jealous, petty, spiteful?”

Coming from _him_ , that was rich. Chloe pushed her glasses down, and looked at him over the top.

“I try not to be," she said. "At least, not at anyone else’s expense.”

“But you think you’re exempt from what the Bible says. About everybody being a sinner, about there not being one righteous person anywhere. ‘No not one’?”

She let out another deep breath. This was just another salvo in her father's long campaign to make her less of an _embarrassment_ to him. He'd tried to grind everything out of her- her brilliance, her queerness, her scepticism and anti-authoritarian streak- and he'd used anything he could to do it. Now that he'd got religion, he was going to use that, too.

And he wasn't going to change. He was never going to stop being a tool, and there was nothing she could do about it. The sooner she stopped expecting him to act like her father, the sooner she'd be able to move on with her life.

It still hurt, though. It hurt like hell.

“I don’t know, Daddy," she said. Her voice was thin and weary. "I just have no idea.”


	2. pray tomorrow, gets me higher

Maybe this was a peace offering.

Her father had taken her to the local greasy spoon after church. Inside, it was a time capsule from the '50s, with Formica tables and green vinyl booths.

Chloe sat, awkwardly adjusting her skirt. After exchanging pleasantries with the waiter, they both ordered. Rayford ordered fried eggs and bacon, drenched with butter.

"Are there any vegan options?" Chloe asked.

"Sorry, no," the waiter said.

"All right. Waffles for me."

"This is what I get for sending you to college, huh?" Her father smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Chloe let that one go. She had to pick her battles.

"There's a reason I wanted to - talk to you," her father said. He turned his butter knife over in his fingers.

"...Go ahead."

She knew it was too much to hope for an apology, but she could never have expected what came next. Her father launched into a soliloquy about how he'd had an 'emotional affair' with a woman named Hattie. For years, apparently. He'd played footsie with her.

The longer he went, the more Chloe wanted to cringe. She did _not_ want to hear this. Any of this. This was the kind of thing she'd be uncomfortable hearing if it was 'just' a friend telling her; from her own father, it was unbearable.

"Dad..."

Chloe paused, spoon hovering over her mug. She set it down across the top, and stared him down.

Did he _really_ not see how outrageous this was? Was he that oblivious?

"You never... _did_ anything about it, did you? You never actually _cheated_ on her?"

"Thankfully, no. I would never have been able to live with myself."

Of course he was that oblivious. In her father's head, he was the centre of the cosmos; everything in the world existed to serve him. And right now, he expected her to be his confidant, because she only existed to be his doting daughter.

"Mom's- Mom was a good woman," she said. "I'm sure she would have forgiven you."

"Yeah."

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Remembering that her mother was gone- that she'd never see her again- made the inside of her chest tighten up.

“I knew she was praying for me,” she said. Her voice felt rough and strange. “She told me every time she wrote.”

It had made her uncomfortable, then- her mother's prayers had always carried an undercurrent of judgement with them. She prayed for Chloe to go back to church, to find a husband and be his submissive wife, to repent and find Jesus. And Chloe had never wanted any of those things.

But now, she would have given anything to hear her pray.

“Did she also tell you about the end times, Chloe?”

Her father's voice came in like a wrong note in a familiar song. Chloe glanced down at her half-finished plate. She'd lost her appetite.

“Sure. All the time.”

"And now that she's been - taken up- "

Chloe picked up her mug and took a sip. Her hand was shaking.

"Dad. We're not talking about this."

"Your soul's on the line, Chloe. As your father-"

"You have a _responsibility_ , I know. But you could have given a damn a lot sooner."

"Why do you keep swearing at me?" Her father leaned in close. "I'm only trying to help you."

"Gee, I don't know. Mom's probably dead, _Raymie's_ dead-"

"They're not dead. They were Raptured."

"It's the same thing, Dad! And even if it wasn't- There's so much other bad stuff going on. I'm a little stressed out, if you couldn't tell."

Her voice dripped sarcasm.

"Sorry to hear that, Chlo'."

"I'm gonna go sit in the car," she said. "When we get home- I'm gonna need some alone time. Okay?"

"You don't want to spend time with me?"

"I need some time to think. About what you've told me," she added. It was disingenuous, but if it'd get her some time alone, it was worth it. She needed to cry, and she couldn't do that in front of her father.

"All right."

Her father swirled his fork around in the butter. Chloe left, the bell on the door jingling behind her.

There was a piece of folded pink paper stuck under the windshield wipers. A parking ticket? Really? She'd have thought the police had more important things to worry about.

She picked it up and unfolded it. It wasn't a ticket. It smelled strongly of jasmine perfume, and inside were a few lines, in swirling, feminine script.

"Miss Steele-

Do you want to stop the end of the world?

If so, meet me outside the Adler Planetarium tomorrow at midnight. I'll be the one wearing a hat with a red feather.

If not, please disregard this message. I won't trouble you again.

Your friend,

M.M.W."

Chloe didn't know what to make of the letter. On the one hand, she didn't want to believe any of the End Times stuff. It _sounded_ like a load of bull- like something out of a bad Dan Brown novel. On the other hand... all the children in the world had just disappeared. She'd have to be stupid _not_ to think something was up.

And to round it all off, someone was stalking her- they knew her name and what her car looked like. If she'd had the energy to care, she would have been worried; at this point, though, someone could drop a nuke on her and she wouldn't give a damn.

Chloe stared at the note numbly for a long moment, then folded it up and put it in her pocket.

She might as well go. If whoever it was was right, the end of the world was happening, and there was some way to stop it- she had a duty to do something about it, didn't she? And if they were just a serial killer, well... she'd taken a self-defense class at Stanford, and she'd been on the track team in high school. She knew she wasn't immortal, but she'd at least have a fighting chance. Wouldn't she?

_"You really think she'll come?"_  
"I did see it, dearest."   
"You've been wrong before."   
"Well, yes, but it was about **him**. He's always been a wild card."  
"...And we really need her?"   
"We don't **need** her need her. I've been trying to talk to Loretta-"   
"The older one?"   
"Yes. But Chloe- she'd be useful. She's got a good head on her shoulders. ...Honestly, she reminds me of you."   
"That's sweet."   
"It is. ...I just wish we had more time. Seven years is not enough."  
"We'll make it work."


	3. goodness gracious let me tell you the news

It was a cold, drizzly night; steam hissed from manhole covers and fog oozed around the streets. Chloe zipped her jacket up to her chin, and pulled her hat down around her ears.  
She pulled out her cell phone and glanced down at the screen. Dammit- with all the crap that had happened lately, she still hadn't changed it. It was a picture of her ex- a girl with choppy dark hair named Zinnia.   
They'd broken up the week before the Event, after a really stupid argument about feminism. That same night, Zinnia started going out with a boy from the art department. Chloe wondered if Zinnia staged the argument just to get them to break up.   
That thought led back to lunchtime with her father, and that was more than she really wanted to think about right now. She remembered why she'd got her phone out, and glanced at the clock.   
It was five after midnight. Chloe put her phone away. Maybe her mysterious stalker wasn't going to show up, after all.  
The click of high heels echoed against the concrete. She glanced over her shoulder. A woman was approaching.  
Chloe couldn't see too much of her. It was dark, and a thick, black lace veil covered her face. It hung from a tiny, ridiculous hat with a red feather in the band. She wore a tightly fitted pantssuit, and a bright red waistcoat peeked over the collar of her jacket.   
"Miss Steele?" she asked.   
"...That's me. But- not Miss." She folded her arms, and tried to give the stranger her coldest stare. Somehow, it didn't seem to work on her as well as it did on her father.  
"Is it Ms. Steele, then?"  
"Just Steele. Who are you, anyway? And why have you been stalking me?"   
"Steele. You can call me West." The woman tilted her head to one side.   
"That's not your real name."   
"Not exactly," West admitted. She had a very odd accent. It sounded American, but there was something off about it; Chloe couldn't put her finger on what was wrong.  
"But that's neither here nor there. You wanted to know why I was 'stalking' you, yes?"   
"Yes." Chloe scowled.   
"It's because you can stop the end of the world."   
Chloe's mouth went dry. She took a step back from the stranger. Her hand closed around the keyring in her pocket- it wasn't actually a weapon, but it made her feel better to have something hard and unyielding in her hand.  
"That's what you said. But if I wanted crazy, I'd go to church with my father," she said.   
"... I don't mean that in the same way he does."   
"Oh?" Chloe didn't move.   
"I'm not talking about 'getting saved'. I mean that you can, with the help of a few other people, stop a catastrophe that will make the K-T extinction look like rush hour traffic."   
"How?"  
"Unfortunately, we know more about what will happen if we don't prevent it."   
"You say 'we'." Chloe pushed her glasses up her nose.   
"I have a small group of... allies. One of them is a woman named Loretta who works at your father's church. She spoke highly of you."   
"And that's how you know about me."   
"Essentially." West nodded. "I wouldn't have contacted you for anything less. You deserve your privacy."   
"...What kind of catastrophe are we talking about?"   
"You remember, earlier this year- Russia tried to nuke Israel."   
"And Ethiopia," Chloe said without thinking. "... Yeah. How could I forget?"  
"That was the first salvo in a very long war. The entity that stopped those bombs is the same one that stole away the world's children. It's not friendly. It's playing a sick game of cat and mouse with humanity. We'd like to stop it before it can go any further."   
Chloe bit her lower lip; her lipstick tasted waxy on her teeth.  
"And you think I can help you."  
"Yes."   
Chloe didn't believe in the supernatural. She never had; even as a little kid, she'd been more interested in dinosaurs than faeries. She'd figured out Santa Claus wasn't real at the age of four, and had quietly concluded that Jesus couldn't be real not long after.   
But between the nukes and the disappearances... something was up. Whether it was highly advanced aliens or the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, she could all too easily believe that something intelligent was behind it, and that that something was unfriendly.   
Could she really do anything about it?   
"...I'll have to think about it," she said.  
"That's all I can ask of you," West said. "Here's my card."  
She offered Chloe a black business card. Chloe pocketed it.   
"When you've made up your mind, give me a call."   
"Will do," Chloe said.   
She said her goodbyes and started towards her car. A lump the size of her fist settled in the pit of her stomach.   
_The entity- it's not friendly._  
Chloe shook her head, and turned on the radio. Johnny Cash's mournful voice filled the car.   
She started to drive back to Belvedere. The freeway was pretty empty this time of night- by Chicago standards, anyway- and that meant she didn't have to think too much.   
_You can run on for a long time  
Run on for a long time  
Run on for a long time  
Sooner or later God'll cut you down_  
She cursed in annoyance and turned off the radio.   
_We don't live in a demon-haunted world,_ she told herself. _Whatever's going on- there's a rational explanation for it._  
If only she knew what it could be.  
\---  
 _"Did you make any progress?"_  
"I think I nudged her. That's all I could do."   
"Oh, love..."   
"I know. Goddammit, I know. ...You find out anything?"  
"No. Seems like we're both stuck."   
"We won't be for long. And even if we are, things will... start happening."  
"That's not comforting."  
"Sorry. ...You know... I could go to their church. See what their pastor has to say."  
"It's sacred ground. Won't that be a problem?"  
"If I don't stay too long, I'll be fine. Just queasy."   
"Let me go, then."  
"Lucy-"   
"You've been doing all the field work. I'd like a try."   
"...All right. Just be careful. They'll have... holy water and things, won't they?"  
"They're not Catholic. They're not even Anglican."  
"... Still."   
"I'll be fine. ... And I might get something we can work with."


	4. lenny bruce is not afraid

Chloe lay on her bed, watching TV.   
It was Star Trek, of course- TOS, though she might switch back to TNG if she got the energy. She needed to escape. The far future, where no one was worried about any kind of apocalypse? That'd do.   
She'd seen this episode at least twenty times; it was the one where George Takei ran around with his shirt off, 'saving' fair maidens. She practically knew it by heart. But since she did, her mind kept wandering. And it kept spiraling- back to the one thing she didn't want to think about.   
_What if she's right?_ Chloe thought. _What if it is the end of the world?_  
Her attention flicked back to the prophecy tape. It squat on top of her VCR like a statue of Cthulhu.   
(A VCR, really? Couldn't he have used anything older? Betamax tapes? Punchcards?)   
Maybe she'd take it to the strange woman. It wouldn't be too much trouble, and her father didn't seem to want it back.   
Someone knocked on her door. Chloe rolled over.  
"Come in," she said.  
Her father opened it. He was in full uniform. He'd shaved for the first time in days, and his hair was slicked back. His over-polished buttons caught the light of the TV screen and glowed like luminescent mushrooms.  
"Star Trek, huh?" He smiled sadly.  
"Yeah. Why, did you think it'd be something else?"   
"I kind of hoped it would be. I gave you that tape for a reason."   
"Mm." She decided she'd have to be the adult in the room, as usual. "Is that all, Dad?"  
"No, uh."  
He nervously picked at his cuffs. The gold braid shone.   
"Hattie's coming for dinner tonight."  
Chloe stiffened, and her jaw clenched. He'd warned her about this, but somehow she hadn't thought it was really happening. For the last two days, she'd been wandering around in a haze.   
"...All right," she said. "You need me to make anything?"   
"You can just heat up that lasagna," he said. "It's not like I'm taking her out to eat."   
Somehow, Chloe didn't think Hattie would be too thrilled with Marie Callender's. That was probably a good thing. The more she could do to scare off her dad's creepy not-girlfriend, the better.   
"Okay," she said. "If you're picking her up, I can come with you-"  
"No! No. I've got this."   
She nodded, and turned her attention back towards the screen.  
"Thanks for warning me," she said.  
As soon as he'd left, Chloe pulled the business card off her nightstand.   
It was iridescent- like a beetle's back. Held straight on, it just looked black, but when you turned it slightly, a name and phone number appeared.   
M.M. Westenra: Troubleshooter.  
Chloe punched the number into her phone, and waited.  
"Hello?" It was West's voice.  
"This is Chloe Steele," she said. "I have something you'd be interested in."   
She quickly told her about the apocalypse tape. West listened attentively.   
"I'll take a look at it," she said. "As quickly as possible. Can we meet today?"  
"Well, I'm stuck at home. Dad's bringing his girlfriend over."   
Chloe wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to tell this stranger where she lived.   
"Can I come take a look? I promise I'm not an axe murderer. ...Like I said, it's urgent."   
She considered for a minute.  
"Sure." And she rattled off the address. It came easily, even though she'd been living in the dorms for a year.   
"I can be there in fifteen minutes."  
Chloe swallowed.   
"All right."   
\---  
Somehow, West- or M.M., or whatever her name was- always managed to make Chloe feel underdressed.   
Today, she was wearing a dress stolen straight from Florence Welch's closet- long and black and lacy, with a square neckline that showed off her throat. There was a small scar along her jugular, like two white pinpricks.  
"Can I see the video?" she asked, almost as soon as she walked in the door.  
"O-of course?"   
Chloe led her to the family room, grabbed the tape, and popped it in. West sat down on the sofa, sinking gracefully into the black leather; Chloe perched herself on the arm.   
She pressed play. West pulled out a pocket notebook and pen, poising it over the page.   
_"As you watch this tape, I can only imagine the fear and despair you face, for this is being recorded for viewing only after the disappearance of God’s people from the earth.  
That you are watching indicates you have been left behind. You are no doubt stunned, shocked, afraid and remorseful …"_  
Chloe snorted.   
"More like pissed," she said.   
"Good. You've got the right idea." West didn't look up from the page. She was writing long, thin lines that didn't look like letters at all.  
"Is that shorthand?" Chloe asked.  
"Yep."   
West didn't seem like she wanted to talk. Chloe decided not to try. She turned her attention back to the video; a knot tightened in her stomach.  
 _"For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. … then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”_  
"God, I hope he's right. But not the way he means." West set her pen down.  
"Death swallowed up in victory?" Chloe frowned. "Sounds pretty pyrrhic to me."   
"Not the way I mean it."   
West tilted her head to one side.  
"If you could make everyone in the world immortal, would you do it?" she asked.  
Chloe considered.  
"Depends," she said. "What's the catch?"   
"Say there was no catch. You could make it so that no one in the world would ever die, unless they wanted to. Would you do it?"   
"Probably," Chloe said, after a moment. "There'd be a lot of logistical crap to work out. How do you deal with predators, how do you keep the Earth from being overpopulated, that kind of thing. ...But if you could work that stuff out, yeah."   
"If you could work it out? That's death swallowed up in victory."   
Chloe heard a car pulling up the driveway. She froze.  
"West- that's my dad. Can you-"   
"You need me to leave?" She stood up. Her hand curled around the notebook.   
"No, I- I'd like the moral support."   
Chloe glanced out the window. There was her dad, all right, with a dark-haired woman in tow. She pinched the bridge of her nose.   
"If you don't want to deal with him, I understand, but-"  
"It sounds like you need the help. I'll stay."   
West smiled.  
Chloe breathed out, relieved. It was only then that she remembered: she'd never put the lasagna in the oven.  
\--  
 _"Prime Minister Lupei?"_  
"That's me. What can I do for you?"   
"There's- there's someone. Someone who needs to speak with you."  
"Are you all right? You're twitching."   
"Nervous tic. Ahem. I have a proposition. For you."   
"Make it quick. I've got a speech in an hour."   
"My- client. Arcard Stonagal. He has a. Proposition for you."   
"Really. And what kind of proposition is this?"   
"You know what's happened, don't you?"  
"What's your name?"   
"Renfield. Rufus Renfield."   
"Right. Rufus, I'm a busy man. I have an entire room of very important people to appease, a father to keep happy, and a world to take over. Do you really think I can fit a meeting with someone I don't know- who won't tell me what he wants- into my schedule?"   
"You will."   
"You don't blink nearly enough."  
"Neither. Neither do you. Heh. Heheh."   
"What's so funny?"   
"I know what you are, see."   
"What I am."   
"Yes. Yes, I do. My- Stonagal. Figured it out. As soon as you were born. You're the herald, aren't you. The clouds. The clouds before the storm."   
"And what if I am?"   
"You have the power to change this. Hehhh. To. To face God. And walk backwards. Into Hell. Hollering at the animals won't hurt."  
"...Right."   
"My client. He knows. He wants to help you."  
"And what's the catch?"  
"No catch. Heh. Just- help. Does anyone want the world to end?"   
"You'd be surprised."   
"Do you?"   
"Are you crazy?"   
"Heh. It- depends. On who you ask."  
"Well, I'm the one asking."   
"It's not important. Talk to Mr. Stonagal. And you'll see. I promise."  
"...I'll work him into my schedule."   
"Good. Good, good good."   
"Now, if you'll excuse me." 


	5. empty dreams can only disappoint

The paper containers were thick and greasy; the fried rice glopped unpleasantly onto the plate. The peas were practically yellow, and the fortune cookies were clearly stale. This was what you got for ordering takeout two weeks after an Event - the only place that had been able to deliver was just reheating frozen Chinese food. 

Chloe gritted her teeth and pulled another styrofoam plate from the stack. West sniffed the air.

“Want some help with that?” she asked.

“Nah, I’ve got it.” 

One meatless plate, two meaty plates.  She picked up an empty plate, glancing at West. 

“I’m not really hungry,” West said.

“No?” Chloe watched her for a second.

“No. And even if I was, I’m on a special diet. Religious reasons.” 

Chloe nodded. 

“Then can you get those in the fridge?” she asked. 

“Sure.” 

West started over, and Chloe headed out with the first two plates. Her father and Hattie were sitting at the dinner table. It was still decorated the way her mother had left it, with ugly thrift-store fake flowers spilling out of ugly thrift-store vases. She put on her company smile, because the alternative was crying.

“Here you go, Dad- Miss Hattie.”

He gave her the death glare, but took the plate. Hattie nodded. 

“Who’s your friend, Chlo’?” her father asked. 

“Uh-” Chloe realised she didn’t even know West’s full name. 

“Mina Westenra,” West said. Well, that was one mystery solved. “Chloe’s told me a lot about you, Mr. Steele.”

She flashed a smile. Her teeth were crooked, but almost brilliantly white. Her canines came to a needle-sharp point. 

Chloe glanced at her warily. Her eyes flicked from West -  _ no, Mina-  _ to her father, and back again. 

_ Better the devil you don’t know- _

“Oh? What has she said?” Her father raised an eyebrow, and rolled his shoulders back. He was practically purring.

... _ Than the one you do.  _

Chloe resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. She could feel the headache brewing behind her eyeballs.

Later, she’d ask West what the hell was going on, and after that she’d have that cry. Until then, if she had to be here, she could do damage control.

“So, uh, Hattie.”  She smiled, and tried to make it look convincing. “You must have some interesting stories? Being a flight attendant?” 

“Sure do.” Hattie gave her a tight, hunted smile. She started an anecdote about the time she’d been on a plane with Mick Jagger and he’d puked on her shoes. Chloe tried to listen politely.

Her eyes flicked to the side.

“People call me the world’s greatest pilot, you know,” her father said.

“Really.” Mina’s tone made the Sahara look like a swamp, but her father didn’t seem to notice.

“The greatest pilot of all time,” Rayford continued. 

Chloe desperately wished that something-  _ anything _ \- would happen to end this interminable conversation. 

The next few seconds flashed past so quickly that she didn’t have time to process them. They barely registered in her brain; all she could hold onto were sensory impressions. She heard a vase break- the  _ thud  _ of something heavy land on the table- heard Mina hiss and heard herself scream. She staggered back.

A youngish man lay in the wreckage of their dinner, blinking owlishly up at them. His hair was sandy, his face was stubbly and fish-belly pale, and he was surrounded by a halo of light.

He rolled off the table and was noisily, violently sick. 


	6. the countries of the world

**Hours in the past, but not many…**

Alexandru Lupei, Prime Minister of Romania, stepped up to the black marble podium. 

He brushed his long hair back and glanced over the crowd. The great and the good of the world, for a given value of both, were in attendance. Prime ministers, presidents- and, most importantly, the press. 

He’d only have one shot at this. But then, he really only needed one, didn’t he? After this, the whole world would be eating out of his hand, whether he fed them sugar or shit. 

“Ladies, gentlemen, and others,” he began. He cleared his throat.

He began to read through the speech he’d memorised, reciting it word-perfectly. He heard the crowd whisper, and nudge each other- but it was so boring. Boring, boring, boring, dull, dull, dullsville. And if this was to be the first real test of his powers... well, boring simply would not do. 

He smirked, and wagged his finger.

"Well, you didn't come here to hear about any of that, did you?"  
  
They looked at him with the same glazed, beautific smiles they'd worn for his entire speech. They were higher than a kite made of helium- drunk off his words and his voice and, most importantly, his powers.

"No, you didn't. You're just here for me. For me, and for the sound of my voice. I could read the phone book and you'll still come out of here saying I'm the greatest orator in the world. No, the greatest orator of all time." 

In fact, he thought, he'd do just that. He cleared his throat, and then realised that he couldn't easily get one. It wasn't as though people kept them around anymore.

Well, he had a fallback measure. He cleared his throat. 

"The people of the United States, Canada, Mexico, Panama, Haiti, Jamaica, Peru-"

He rattled it off, easily, of course, and they kept staring. Lex thought he saw drool oozing out of the mouth of the American delegate. 

"Puerto Rico, Columbia, Venezuela  
Honduras, Guyana, and still,  
Guatemala, Bolivia, then Argentina  
And Ecuador, Chile, Brazil."

Something was wrong. He didn't know how he knew. It was like a seventh sense- an indescribable sensation, but one he felt as easily as he felt the floor beneath his feet. It felt like light- cold, burning, harsh light.

He licked his lips, and kept talking, but his eyes skimmed the room, looking for its source.

"And French Guiana, Barbados, and Guam.  
Norway, and Sweden, and Iceland, and Finland-"

There, in the very back- in the press box. Sandy-haired, fedora-wearing, skinny as a rail. He looked nauseous. The transformation was just beginning, but once it was done, Lex knew, Lex's life would be in danger. 

" Transylviania,  
Monaco, Liechtenstein  
Malta, and Palestine,  
Fiji, Australia, Sudan!" he finished. "And that's all, folks. You can think again." 

He snapped his fingers. The audience burst into life. They stood, as one, clapping. 

Lex did not have time to bask in his glory, though any other time, he would have. There were more important things to deal with. 

"Security," he muttered. "We've got a problem. Someone's packing a gun." 

He was using a more restrained form of his powers, now- less showy. It was like the difference between a punch and a slap; more persuasive than coercive. 

(There were a lot of things about his powers that weren't easy to explain, to someone who hadn't been born with them. For Lex, it was like explaining what breathing or shivering was like- but then, he'd never bothered.)

He gave a brief description of the man. It'd take a few more hours for the transformation to complete- with any luck, they'd get the idiot into custody, and then Lex could kill him before he became a problem. 

"Roger. We'll handle it, sir." 

He stepped down from the podium, and watched. Men in suits surrounded the reporter, saying things that Lex couldn't quite hear. Lex grinned. Everything was going to be just-

The man vanished. 

Lex switched off his earpiece and cursed under his breath. It was a long string of cusses- vulgar, multi-lingual, and involving a goat. 

His father’s Enemy had gotten another one. Every time this happened, it was a tragedy. But this one had access to the great and powerful of the world, and once the transformation was complete-

He switched his earpiece back on.

“Find that man. I don’t care what you have to do. Just find him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any liberties taken with the function and composition of the UN can be attributed to the fact that this is the John Birch Society version of the UN, and is therefore not the version that exists in this universe.


End file.
